


Goodbye, Hello

by frozensight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozensight/pseuds/frozensight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of him knew it was stupid, but the rest of him couldn't seem to stop. He didn't <i>want</i> to stop.</p><p>(aka: Just another part of Dean's life to be associated with a Beatles song.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodbye, Hello

**Author's Note:**

> set in kind of an AU of s6 where Sam has his soul from the beginning

The first time he did it, it was more of a test. They were going after a werewolf. It was a standard, everyday hunt. He and Sam had done this a million times before. Knowing he’d make it back without too much injury, Dean sent a text to one of the only people—well, entity—that he knew would care if something happened to him.

_To Castiel:  
goodbye_

He never got a response, but he didn’t mind. For all he knew, Castiel was in heaven, and did angels get reception in heaven? And if they did, how good was it? Dean shrugged it off and grabbed his gun, making sure it was loaded with silver bullets. Sam came out of the bathroom, and they nodded to each other.

The hunt was gonna be in the bag. So naturally, it all went to shit.

Turns out, it wasn’t just _one_ werewolf, but a whole motherfucking _pack_. Luckily, they’d had just enough ammo to get them all, and they were only slightly beaten and bloody. If Dean was limping a little, he didn’t say anything just as Sam all but ignored the way he was gripping his right arm.

While Sam took the first shower, Dean flopped onto his bed, grimacing a little at how he was more than likely getting blood on the comforter. He sighed and rolled over despite it though, and grabbed his phone from his pocket. No new messages. With only a fleeting thought about angel cell phone carriers, Dean sent another text before drifting off.

_To Castiel:  
hello_

\-----

He didn’t do it every hunt because sometimes the big battles jumped up behind you and dragged you back into an alleyway, sometimes literally, but he did it when he could. He never got an answer from Castiel, and the angel never mentioned it whenever he showed up. Dean figured he had enough on his plate with a fucking angel civil war than to also deal with texts that didn’t directly affect or help him.

That was, Dean added in an afterthought, if Castiel even realized what texts were.

So he made a point to text Sam about their current case the next time Castiel came around—stolen angel artifact blah blah something about a slingshot. Castiel took only a bare interest in what Dean was doing, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t take notice.

Eventually they caught up with Balthazar and stole back David’s Slingshot. Dean may or may not have pretended that Sam was Goliath and fired a balled up straw wrapper at him. The result was an unconscious Sam for about two hours. Castiel had taken the angel artifact away from him with his serious angel douchebag face on, but Dean could see the smile tugging on the corners of his lips. Because seriously, he’d just knocked out his brother with a _straw wrapper_ and a _slingshot_ , there was no universe where that wasn’t fucking hilarious.

\-----

Even after demonstrating how to text, Castiel never texted him back. Dean was beginning to feel like there wasn’t much of a point in his ritual, but he felt like stopping was admitting defeat. With an increase of monsters running around, it was comforting to have this habit, as stupid as that sounded even in Dean’s own head.

He’d been brushing his teeth when he finally received a text from Castiel, and he nearly gagged when he read it.

_From Castiel:  
Goodbye._

Dean stood there in front of the mirror, toothbrush hanging from his mouth as he gaped at the text. Castiel finally texts him back, and it’s to say _goodbye_? It hurts, Dean’s not even going to lie, but he supposed that being up in heaven, it wasn’t like Castiel could come by for a last minute visit real quick before Raphael and his goons ganked him.

He had resumed brushing when he got another text.

_From Castiel:  
Hello._

Stuck between relief and bewilderment, Dean rinsed his mouth out and left the bathroom. How much would Sam judge him for having a shot of whiskey at nine in the morning?

\-----

So it became their thing, that texting back and forth like that, but only when their lives were at stake. The battles in heaven happened faster and more frequent. Sometimes he would wake up with ten messages, all from Castiel, and he wouldn’t be able to eat his breakfast with his usual gusto because his stomach clenched every time he thought of how he could’ve been _sleeping_ when Castiel died.

Of course Sam had to notice, and of course Dean brushed him off. It made his brother frown in a way that Dean commented about him getting wrinkles. Sam just grumbled and let him be.

If Dean was more relaxed whenever Castiel joined them for a hunt, he didn’t say anything just as Sam kept his mouth shut at the sight of Dean offering Castiel a piece of pie.

\-----

“Dean.”

“Sam.”

“Are you humming ‘Hello, Goodbye’?”

“…”

“…”

“You ask why, I say I don’t know.”

“You’re an idiot.”

\-----

Castiel may or may not have a personalized ringtone after that even though he hardly ever calls before showing up. Sometimes Dean would catch himself humming under his breath as he filled up the Impala, and whenever Sam caught him, he would just roll his eyes.

\-----

Castiel hadn’t said anything to him or Sam, but Dean could tell that the angel war was getting pretty bad. The texts were coming more and more often, and Dean was beginning to lose sleep over it. Sam’s concern grew daily. How did one tell their younger brother that they were scared of losing their guardian angel, their best friend? He wasn’t even going to think about the warm, sappy feeling that flooded him every time Castiel appeared, or the hollowing one that came when Castiel left. He lumped it in with the feelings of friendship and family. He’d feel the same way if Sam was in Castiel’s place, so it was a brotherly love right?

Right.

\-----

_From Castiel:  
Goodbye. I’m sorry._

Dean looked at the clock on the nightstand again. The glowing red numbers told him for the fifth time that it was 4:50am. He triple-checked the timestamp on the text.

4:27am

The longest he’d ever had to wait before was maybe ten minutes, and he’d nearly grabbed his stuff and jumped in the impala. He wouldn’t have been able to do anything, but it was unbearable sitting still knowing Castiel fought for his life.

Not to mention the added ‘I’m sorry’ made a weight form in Dean’s stomach, and if Sam heard him go to the bathroom to throw up a little, he didn’t say anything. He’d say it was the diner they ate at later, but for now he could only focus on the fact that Castiel hadn’t texted him back.

Sure, Dean guessed that there had to eventually come a time when one of them never said ‘hello’ again, but he’d just assumed it’d be him, the lowly human, fighting for his own life, not the goddamn Angel who’s fighting to prevent the second coming of the apocalypse.

He couldn’t stop thinking that the apology tacked onto the usual single worded text meant that he was apologizing for the fact that he wouldn’t be responding, and that just made Dean feel hopeless. One of the most important people in his life was battling to the brink of death and he couldn’t do a fucking thing.

Dean glanced at the other bed, where Sam was snoring softly, and mused that well, there was maybe _one_ thing he could do. It was how effective it would be that was questionable.

So feeling like an idiot, he folded his hands together, screwed his eyes shut, and prayed to God.

He prayed for Castiel’s safety, for his return. He promised that he would try harder, that he would save more people if God could just give him Castiel in one piece. That he’d never doubt the man upstairs again if he could just have Castiel back. Because he loved him. Like a brother.

Dean wondered fleetingly if it was sacrilegious to lie to God while praying.

“Amen,” he murmured, eyes remaining closed as he sat there on his bed, phone grasped tightly between his hands. Part of him was afraid to open his eyes because as foolish as it was, that same part of him was hoping that Castiel would be in front of him if he opened them, and if he didn’t open them, then that could be a possibility in theory.

He stayed like that, still, breathing shallowly, until he heard something. His eyes flew open, and his angel’s name was on his lips when he registered that nothing had changed. It had just been the AC turning on, or Sam hitting the nightstand in his sleep. Dean couldn’t help the growing fear that had rooted deep in his gut.

A glance at the clock told him it was now 5:14am. It’d been almost an hour since Castiel had texted him. Dean looked around the hotel room, and suddenly he felt claustrophobic. He had to get outside, maybe go for a drive—something, _anything_ other than sitting there in silence.

He could only make himself be so quiet as he put on his jeans and jacket. He was desperate for fresh air, the notion of looking up to the sky and seeing ‘heaven’ growing stronger as the seconds flew by. Sam rolled over and grumbled groggily, but he made no attempt to really wake up or stop Dean.

Giving his brother a last look, more than a little jealous of how peacefully he was sleeping, Dean wrenched the door open and stopped.

There stood Castiel, a small, pained smile on his face. He had a cut above his left eye, and from the way he leaned against the wooden pillar outside the room, Dean hazarded a guess that one of his legs was a bit tender too.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Motherfucker,” was all Dean could get out once he made himself breath again. His heartbeat wasn’t slowing down, and he couldn’t stop gaping at Castiel, who just stood there as nonchalantly as always.

Castiel cocked his head to the side. “I never had intercourse with your mother, nor did I ever want to.”

Dean laughed. He laughed from shock, from relief, from the sheer fact that _of course_ Castiel used words like intercourse.

“Shit, Cas. You had me as anxious as a virgin on prom night.” Castiel’s face furrowed a little in confusion at the analogy, but Dean bypassed it to ask, “Are you okay?”

Stepping forward, limp all but concealed, Castiel replied, “Angel blade wounds take slightly longer to heal. I would’ve waited, but I heard it was urgent.”

Suddenly Dean felt guilty because it wasn’t _urgent_. He’d just been freaking out because he wanted Castiel to be safe, to be alive. They weren’t even on a hunt at the moment. The only thing urgent about the situation was Dean’s desire to locate where his testicles had been hidden. “Cas, I—”

A finger pressed against Dean’s lips—did Castiel just _roll his eyes_?—and Castiel smiled warmly at him. “I was jesting. I wanted to see you too, Dean.”

“Oh, well then…” Dean left off awkwardly, not sure where this conversation was supposed to go as opposed to how he _wanted_ it to go. Castiel appeared to be having the same thoughts before he came to the conclusion of ‘fuck it’ because Castiel’s finger vanished and there were his lips instead.

The kiss wasn’t as heated as Dean had thought it would be. It was more of an intense longing to stay right there for the rest of time, a hope that everything would eventually be less hectic in their lives. One of Castiel’s hands threaded through Dean’s hair while the other steadied them by being on Dean’s left shoulder. Dean’s hands were holding Castiel’s face, refusing to allow him to pull away until Dean had had enough, which he suspected would be impossible.

They did separate, however, when Sam grumbled again, louder than before. Dean chuckled lightly as he rested his forehead on Castiel’s, his hands sliding down to play with the hair at the base of Castiel’s neck.

Dean wanted to say it, but he couldn’t. The words refused to even go to his mouth, instead catching in his throat. Castiel leaned back just enough to kiss Dean’s forehead and whispered, “I know. As do I.”

Something else caught in Dean’s throat this time, but he opted to just pull Castiel into a hug and burrow his head into Castiel’s neck. Warm arms wrapped around him in retaliation, and he had the feeling that something else that was warm and infinitely comforting also enveloped him.

“Let’s go to bed, Dean,” mumbled Castiel into Dean’s ear, and he nodded because his exhaustion was coming upon him in staggering waves now that he knew Castiel was fine.

It was unclear who helped who to the bed. Dean stripped back down to his boxers and shirt. Castiel just took off his trenchcoat and shoes. As they climbed under the covers, Dean found himself back into Castiel’s arms and he sighed before his eyes fluttered shut as he sent a mental thank you to God.

\-----

If the next morning, Dean didn’t say anything to Sam about the fact he had fallen asleep in the arms of an angel, that was because Sam had already smiled and nodded at him, accepting and glad that his brother was happy.

\------

“I don’t know why you say goodbye, I say hello.”


End file.
